Chapter Text
“What is that?”
I don’t startle at Katniss’ soft question. I hadn’t heard her enter the dining car, but that’s fine. I’m used to her silent footsteps by now. I’m more surprised that she doesn’t peer over my shoulder. But, after what we’ve been through, I guess both of us are more aware of others’ privacy. Although I have no desire whatsoever to share this with the Capitol, I know I’ll share it with her. I have no secrets from Katniss.
Still, that doesn’t mean my stomach isn’t churning. I’m easily a hundred times more nervous about showing her this one than I had been with the sketch of her and her sister. That had been a simple portrait from memory. This… this is not simple. And it’d very nearly been drawn from life.
I hand it to her and look out the window, steadying myself against the narrow ledge and watching the landscape blur past. “It’s my token. The one I actually carried into the arena.” I brace myself for her reaction. But…
She’s quiet. Too quiet. Eventually, I have to look at her.
Katniss stares down at the sketch I’d done of her, capturing that warmth in her eyes that had been just for me, that soft smile that I treasure. “Peeta…”
The sketch is balanced carefully on her fingertips. A soft breeze could blow it away. Too many words crowd my tongue. Words of thanks and explanation and reassurance. I don’t say any of them.
Instead, I think of the Capitol and their greed, their cameras and microphones, their eyes wide and ears perked. I think of an eternal spotlight. I think of the coronation. I study her now as I had then, watching President Snow approach us with a single coronet. For a moment, I’d thought Katniss would be the only one of us to be crowned in a literal sense, but then he’d twisted the metal in his hands, separating it into two circlets.
I remember thinking it oddly symbolic: Katniss and I are something of a package deal, indivisible. She’d seemed to find meaning in it, too. She’d watched the president, wary and defiant, as he’d congratulated her. The breathless tension of the moment… my disquiet from our interview… Katniss’ uncharacteristic displays of affection… it had all layered one on top of the other until—
“What a lovely pin,” the president had remarked.
Beautiful and emotionless, Katniss had answered, “Thank you. It’s from my district.”
President Snow had paused and given her a pointed look. “They must be very proud of you.”
And because I had been paying close attention to her, searching for clues, I had seen it the moment it had blossomed: fear. Katniss’ breath had caught. The muscles in her neck had corded. Her jaw had clenched. It had all added up to one horrible conclusion: Katniss is afraid of President Snow. She has made an enemy of the most powerful man in the known world.
I may have discovered the source of her terror, but only that. Nothing more. I hesitate to ask her about it here, on a train outbound from the Capitol. The Games have given me a paranoia that may never be completely erased. I feel their eyes on me even now.
Which is also why I cannot say what I want to, why I can’t thank her or reassure her or explain how I feel about her…
She offers the sketch back to me. “I’m not… She’s too pretty to be me.”
“She’s you,” I insist, borrowing her matter-of-fact tone. “She’s you when you look at me.” I carefully tuck the sketch into my jacket pocket. She looks up and waits until I look over. “Well,” I add a little bashfully, “when I earn it.”
She searches my eyes and I invite her closer with a smile.
She accepts, moving to stand next to me, but glances away to stare out the window. I’ve unsettled her, but she hasn’t locked me out or walled herself away. This is progress. This is great progress. I dare to be a bit more… daring.
“So,” I begin, “what happens when we get back?”
“I don’t know,” she admits with a vague frown. “I guess we try to forget.”
I’d been afraid she’d say something like that. Dreading it. Hoping for a different answer. I focus on the scenery. “I don’t want to forget,” I tell her a little angrily. “I won’t.”
I can feel her studying me, but I don’t trust myself to face her just yet.
“I won’t go back to being that boy who didn’t speak to you all those years, who wasn’t your friend. I won’t be useless or pathetic again. Or a coward. I won’t do it, Katniss.” I look at her. I glare. I burn. “If that means I have to remember all the bad things, too, then I will, because I can’t go back.”
Her lips move, shape my name, but no sound emerges.
Just then, the car door slides open and Haymitch saunters in. At almost the exact same moment, the train begins to slow.
“Refueling station coming up,” he tells us. “Let’s go get some fresh air. You and your honeybuns can hold hands and watch the sunset, sweetheart.”
I expect Katniss to resist on principle. The fact that she doesn’t is telling. Very telling.
Just what the hell is going on here?
I manage to keep a lid on it until we’re strolling along the functional, cement platform. I let Haymitch speak first simply because I don’t want to start yelling so early on in the conversation.
“Okay, sweetheart. You know what you have to do.” His lecturing tone doesn’t surprise me, nor does the sharp, calculating look in his eyes. They’re both still depressing as hell because I think I know what’s coming, I just don’t understand why.
He continues, “Just keep it up until the camera crews head back to the Capitol – shouldn’t take more than a week, two at most – and then you’ll be home free.”
“No, we won’t,” Katniss replies, glancing at me and shifting half a step in my direction. I recognize the gesture. She’s reaching out for me, her partner. I move to her side. I may not know what the hell is going on, but I trust her to tell me the truth. “Haymitch… President Snow came to see me in the hospital.”
I jerk with shock. Both Haymitch and I gawk at her.
“Did he now?” our mentor says, an odd tenor affecting his voice.
Katniss nods. “There’s been some kind of rebellion in at least two of the districts and he blames me. The berries… He said I’d broken the rules and gotten away with it.” She hesitates and then forces herself to add, “So far.”
“Oh, shit, sweetheart.”
“What?” she grits out. “Isn’t that why you warned me before the interview that they’d be watching. That they were angry. That I had to be… I had say… I had to make them think that I… we…”
At this point, she looks at me, an apology in her eyes. Yeah, I’d kind of figured that it’d be like this.
It wasn’t real. Isn’t real.
I pretend I don’t have a heart. It will make this conversation easier to bear. “I knew something was wrong in the interview, Katniss,” I admit even though it kills me to do it. “You would never… act like that in front of the cameras unless you thought you had to.”
“I’m sorry,” she mouths.
“You bet you are,” Haymitch snarls. “Goddamn it, sweetheart.”
“Don’t you ‘Goddamn it, sweetheart’ me! Just tell me what needs to happen next! How do I keep Snow from tossing Prim into the arena next year?”
It’s not until Katniss is facing me that I realize I’ve grabbed her arm and turned her. “Did he threaten your sister?”
She must trust me because I’ve never seen her so distraught, so desperate. “He made a point of letting me know he was aware that she had six more Reapings to face, Peeta. Does that sound like a threat to you?”
“What else?” Haymitch demands.
Katniss stiffens. “What?”
“What else did he threaten you with?”
“Why aren’t you surprised that he threatened Prim in the first place?”
“Because this is what they do!” Haymitch snarls. “The moment your name is picked your life is over, sweetheart. It’s never going to be your own, not unless you turn to morphling or moonshine or are lucky enough to not have anyone you care about still alive... which you aren’t.” He studies us, his gaze moving from Katniss to me and back again. “They will keep using you until there’s nothing left, so tell me – what else did he say to scare you into shitting your britches?”
“Nothing.”
“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
She leans in, toe to toe with our mentor, not giving an inch. “He told me Peeta and I have to stick together. We have to be in—in love. We have to give the districts the right impression. That impression. Otherwise, Prim gets Reaped. That’s all, Haymitch!”
“Fine. Great.” Haymitch glances at me, something flickering in his bloodshot eyes. When he looks back at Katniss, he scowls. “Shit.” He furrows his fingers through his hair. “Goddamn it. You just had to pay your respects to Rue, surround her with flowers, salute her… You just had to make her matter. Eleven just loved that. Sent you that little bit of bread, didn’t they?”
I recall Rue’s death from the recap. Katniss had seemed relieved when it had faded to black. At the time, I’d assumed it was because she’d wanted it to be over. Now that I have the context for it… Katniss had been terrified of being asked to explain her actions, knowing that President Snow would be watching and waiting for an excuse – any excuse – to punish her for inciting a rebellion.
“Eleven,” Katniss says uncomfortably, “that’s one of the districts that, um…”
“Rioted,” Haymitch supplies. “There were riots right after that little girl died. District Eight rioted after that stunt with the berries.” Haymitch shakes his head. “Congratulations, sweetheart. You’ve locked yourself into one hell of a role.” He levels a finger at her. “And don’t for one minute think this ends in six years. The Capitol doesn’t work like that. You’ll always have a weak point, and they’re always gonna have their finger on it.”
I catch my breath and glance sideways at Katniss. I’m so caught up in my own dawning horror that I don’t even think it worth remarking on that she’d met my gaze as quickly as I’d sought hers.
“So think carefully about who you’re gonna be giving warm greetings to when we get back,” Haymitch warns us. “Because the more people you let close to you, the more cannon fodder you give the Capitol.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. My dad. My brothers. They’re targets now and there’s nothing I can do about it. But others – the kids I know from school and family friends – I can avoid them, save them. I’m starting to understand why Haymitch is always on his own.
“Are you ready for this, Girl on Fire?” he asks Katniss. “Because, really, it’s all on you. If the Capitol isn’t convinced, Snow’s gonna go with Plan B.”
Katniss doesn’t deny any of this. I wish she would. It’s starting to sound like she doesn’t have any choice but to keep up the act. I don’t want it to be an act. An act is worse than having to share something real with the cameras. Oh, God. How did we end up losing even though we’d won? What a Goddamn mess.
I summarize, “So we keep up the star-crossed lovers deal, convince everyone that we’re a couple of stupid, desperate, love-sick kids, and this’ll make the riots stop? Does Snow really believe that?” How stupid and complacent does he think the people in the districts are?
“Snow will use whatever – and whoever – is at his disposal to squeeze the nation’s balls until we beg for mercy, kid. The last thing he needs is you two going all militant and inspirational. You’ve gotta seem harmless. You get it now?”
“Got it.”
“Good.” He turns to Katniss and asks sweetly, “Now, was there anything else you’d like to share with the class?”
“Go suck on a bottle,” she snarls.
“Thanks. I think I will. Don’t stay out too late now. You’ll need your beauty sleep for your victorious homecoming tomorrow.”
He hauls his sarcastic ass back on the train. I stare after him, too angry and scared to say anything.
Katniss turns to me, but she can’t quite look me in the eye. “I am so, so sorry, Peeta.”
I snort. “Sorry that you saved both our lives?” Yeah, that makes a whole lot of sense to me.
“No. I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out a way to do it better.”
I sigh and abandon my anger. What’s done is done and being upset isn’t going to help us face what comes next.
“Come here,” I beckon, opening my arms. She steps into them after a brief hesitation. She’s stiff, resistant. I rub her back soothingly until her arms wind loosely around my waist. “It’s going to be all right.”
She laughs. It sounds painful. “No, it won’t.”
“Yes,” I insist, “it will. If Snow wants a pair of love-sick teenagers, then that’s what he’ll get.”
“Peeta, I don’t— I’m not— I can’t—”
I know she’s not normally comfortable dealing with words or people. I’m frankly amazed that she’d gotten through the recap so successfully. It looks like I’d underestimated her again. But now she’s the one who is underestimating herself.
I shush her gently. “Hey, hey. How many times have you saved my life? A lot, right? That means you care. I can work with that.”
“Caring is a long way from being in love.”
“Maybe, but nobody else has to know it, Katniss. Just give me a little of your trust. We can do this.”
Her forehead drops to my shoulder. “How?”
She sounds so hopeless and defeated. I can’t let her give up. Not now. Not ever. She needs a plan, a strategy. I can do that for her. She’ll take my words. I’m good with those.
I coach her quietly, “Just be my friend.” Her frustrated sigh heats my neck, so I elaborate on my vague answer, “When I make you smile or laugh, don’t fight it. Don’t push me away. Just allow me a little closer than most others, like… like you do with Prim or Gale. Can you…” My voice cracks. This is it. The moment of truth. “Can you care about me like that? Even a little bit?”
My hands pause on her back as I wait for her verdict. The soft chugging of the idling train competes with my roaring pulse. If Katniss can’t let herself trust me, if she can’t admit that much, I just… I just don’t know what I’ll be able to do for her if the answer she gives me is anything other than—
“Yes.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. Oh, thank God. “Okay,” I say through a sudden smile. “Great. That’s fine.”
“We’re partners,” she reminds me, tripping my heart and making it stumble.
Three weeks ago, there had been an impassable chasm between us. I’d spent years wishing for the strength to bridge it, trying to find a way to fashion a rope from my hopes and dreams, tie my heart onto the end of it, and throw it across the void to her on the other side. But I never had. I’d been too afraid she wouldn’t catch it. Even now, she’s made me no promises and there are no guarantees, but my heart is hers whether she accepts it or not. And that’s fine. It’s fine. I still have more than I’d ever expected I would. Here we are: holding onto each other as the sun sets on the silent horizon. She’s resting her head on my shoulder, trusting me with the weight of her worries, telling me that we are partners, she and I. We are partners.
“Yeah, we are.” Is love always supposed to hurt this much? Even when you’re happy? Maybe. I’m not really an expert. I’m probably not even very good at loving her or showing her how important she is to me. All I’m really sure of is that I can lie.
That prompts me to give her a reminder in exchange, “I will always be honest with you. Always.” I seek out her hand, which I lift to my lips and kiss soundly, sealing that promise with a gesture that is familiar and genuine, something we’d had before the Games had begun.
She takes a step back and meets my gaze. There’s something in her eyes – a determined spark – that warns me. She has something important to say and I’m not entirely sure it’ll be pleasant to hear. Her fingers curl tighter around mine. “You shouldn’t have said those things about yourself. On the train just now.”
What? Oh. That. Well, maybe I shouldn’t have said it. It had probably come out sounding like I was holding a little pity party for myself. That hadn’t been my intention. I’d only been stating facts.
I shake my head. “That doesn’t make it untrue. Until the Reaping, I was a complete—”
Her hand lifts from my shoulder and hovers over my mouth. “Stop. You were never a coward. You were never any of those things.”
She’s so sweet without being the least bit soft. She really believes what she’s saying. I brush her fingertips with my lips in thanks, but I have to argue the point. “The facts say otherwise.”
Pulling her hand away and glaring, she grits out, “No, they don’t.”
I know that stubborn look on her face. I won’t get a word in edgewise until she’s said her piece. Okay, fine. I’ll let her say what she needs to. It’s not going to weaken my resolve. I can resist her arguments. Bring it on.
“That day in the rain five years ago,” she begins in a firm tone, “you saved my life. You helped me save Prim’s life and my mother’s. That day, I was at the end of my rope.” She pauses, her gaze unfocusing for the briefest moment. “Just like the little boy in the woods – in the story I told you – you gave me what I needed. You gave me what my family needed.”
I stare at her. That had not been what I’d expected her to say. Not even close.
“When you saw me that day, what did you do?” she tests me. “Did you hesitate to burn that bread? Did you try and think up excuses to not do anything? Did you try and pretend you hadn’t seen me at all?”
I hadn’t done any of those things. She’d needed help and I’d reacted. My memory is still perfectly clear on that.
Katniss answers for me, “Even though you knew what your mother would do, you dropped the bread in the fire, and then you gave it to me. You never even asked for anything in exchange. You just… did it.”
My resolution to remain unmoved is dissolving.
“You always help,” she whispers, “and you always will, because that’s who you are.”
My eyes are burning with tears as her hand slowly wraps around the back of my neck, her fingers sifting through the strands of hair curling over my nape.
“You are the boy in the meadow who answers every knock at his door. You’re the boy who gives hope to strangers. You are a hero, Peeta Mellark. And that’s why I was never able to talk to you.”
I gape. My breath rattles shallowly in my chest. I realize that my eyes are overflowing when she presses a kiss to my wet cheek. My eyelids lower. My heart thunders. I’m struggling to breathe normally when I feel her hand lift from my neck to my forehead and gently push my hair back, combing her fingers through the strands. I remember how she’d touched me in the cave… and now I know that I haven’t lost that. The Capitol had tried to take it, had tried to twist it to suit their purposes, but here it is again and it is real.
I am overwhelmed.
I crumble.
I gather her close and bury my face in her neck as the weight of the past – every single regret – tumbles from my shoulders. My guilt parts like thinning rain clouds and hope shines through, relentless and breathtaking.
I should have known Katniss would be the one to free me. It was always going to be her, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
“I’ve got you,” she vows, speaking into my ear. “Just stay with me. No matter what,” she implores.
I could never abandon her. Never. “No matter what,” I swear. “I’m with you, together or apart. No matter what.”
We hold onto each other until the alarm sounds and we have to re-board the train. I help her inside and she turns back to pull me up after her. I’m still unsteady on my artificial leg and I stumble against the walls of the corridor when the train shifts unexpectedly, but I’m smiling. Deep inside, I know I’m still hurt, still angry, still bleeding, but I also feel healed. Or maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s strength. Katniss has revealed my own strength to me and I can bear the weight of the past more easily now.
She is amazing.
I hold her hand all the way back to the dining car. I hold her hand as we return to the window and watch the darkening world roll by. I hold her hand for as long as I can and I wonder what I can do to change things for her: I want to give her a choice. I want to break Snow’s control over her. There must be a way in all of this. There must be.
I’ll find it. We’ll find it. Katniss and I are partners.
I brush my thumb over the back of her hand and she lets out a breath, her lashes fluttering. Our gazes meet and I don’t hold back. I’ll never hide how I feel about her and I love her more than anything. I love her and I want Katniss to be free to love me back. I want her to hold my hand not for the cameras but because she simply doesn’t want to let go.